


Damned

by iscatterthemintimeandspace



Series: Writer's Club Prompts [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Pedophilia, Mentions of Rape, Prompt Fic, Unnatural Writers Club, mentions of child abuse, villian POV challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7632949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iscatterthemintimeandspace/pseuds/iscatterthemintimeandspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bela Talbot had always been meant for hell. </p><p>For the Unnatural Writer's Club Prompt: Villian's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damned

Bela Talbot had always been meant for hell.

Even when she was Abbie, timid and mousy, she always had a dark streak, even if it took abuse at the hands of her father to bring it out. 

She was five years old the first time her father touched her. It had started as innocent hugs, then evolved into caresses in the dark corners of her house. By the time she was eight, he was slipping into her rooms three to four times a week, right under her mother’s nose. 

She tried everything to get it to stop. At first, she fought him, kicking and screaming as he pressed against her. She cried, hoping her tears would stall him, but instead he pushed her face into the pillow. Nothing she attempted even slowed him down, it just made it worse. Until she stumbled upon the medicine cabinet. 

It was an accidental discovery. Her mother had asked her to run up and get a bandaid for her hand. Abbie had clambered onto the marble vanity, and opened the mirrored doors, knocking a slew of bottles in her effort to be quick. As Abbie rushed to pick them up, one in particular caught her eye; the sleeping pills.

As she read the label, a plan forming in the cold cogs of her mind. She stashed them in a pile of stuffed animals before returning to her mother. 

Two nights later, when she smelled the whiskey on Daddy’s breath, she crushed up five pills with shaking hands and stirred them into his coffee with the sugar. 

He fell asleep in his arm chair, and Abbie slept safely for the first time in six years. 

The pills slowed her father down, but they didn’t stop him completely. She was fifteen when she sold her soul to a man with red eyes to kill both of her parents, and sixteen the first time she used the name Bela. 

Abbie was dead, and Bela was glad to be rid of her. 

She threw herself into the shadow world with relish, using both her body and her brains to get what she wanted. It all worked out rather nicely, until she met the Winchesters. 

She thought she was being smart, paying two goons to steal the rabbit’s foot. She’d heard what it could do, and wanted no part in the curse, but it was also valuable and by now she was used to a certain standard of living. It was all going according to her plan when Sam ended up in possession of the foot and it all went downhill from there. 

Bela didn’t like getting her hands dirty, but she had run out of options. So she stole the foot back, only to have Dean take from her. The boy had balls, she would give him that, but they weren’t as big as hers. 

She ended up losing the foot, but she left Sam with a bullet in his shoulder, and took his lotto winnings as a consolation prize. 

Her next run with the Winchesters was similarly unpleasant. They cost her the Hand of Glory and ten thousand dollars, which was nothing but a drop in the bucket for her, but still left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn’t like losing money. 

There didn’t seem to be any hard feelings. They called in favors from her, and she repaid them begrudgingly. Until she stole the Colt in an effort to extend her contract. 

Now, she listened to the dial tone buzz in her ear, ringing with the disgust from Dean Winchester’s voice, and the howls of the hounds outside her door. The Devil’s Shoestring would only keep them at bay for so long. 

Bela couldn’t swallow her pride, and now she would choke on it. 

The woman who had been Abbie Carmichael took off her diamond earrings, slipped out of her Louboutin shoes, and sat down on her bed. She took a deep, steadying breath and prepared to meet her fate head on. 

She needn't have worried. 

Truth be told, after all she’d been through, Hell was rather disappointing. 

It only took her fifty years before the tortured became the torturer. She had climbed off the rack, and slipped into her new position as easily as she slipped on her designer stilettos. 

It took her another thirty years to become overseer of her division, one of the shortest in Hell’s long history.

She supposed she’d had a headstart over most of the low life scum that made up the ranks of Hell’s legion. Bela had been hellbound long before she’d sold her soul to the devil. It made her descent, and later ascent, a much easier transition. 

Bela Talbot, once a scared little girl in her father’s shadow, laughed as she surveyed her fiefdom, and then looked to the throne.

It was about time Hell had a Queen. 


End file.
